Ants in the Pants
by quokka
Summary: Lazy Sunday make-out session, with tiny uninvited guests


Silly Tiva drabble I decided to edit and post after all. I know it's cliché, but Ziva and idioms are always fun to me.

Seeing as the idiom was the inspiration, there's not much of a plot-is there ever in my fics.

Hope you enjoy reading this on a warm Sunday afternoon.

* * *

The long grass was warm and ticklish, glowing in the hot midday sun, as she lowered herself on her back, pulling him with her by the front of his shirt. He hovered over her, one leg between hers, his weight on his right arm as his left hand disappeared underneath her shirt, fingers lightly dancing over her rib cage, goose bumps following in their wake.

The heat of the sun had nothing on the desire burning in his eyes as his gaze drifted all over her. Warm lips touched hers lightly, fingers trailed up and teased. She pulled him closer, fingers tugging at the short strands of hair at the back of his head.

Her impatience always amused him, he pulled back—far enough to meet her gaze, close enough for their breaths to mingle. The thousand watt grin splitting his face stoked the fire in her belly. She grabbed his denim-clad butt and pulled him closer once more, a warm chuckle rolled from his lips, lips she could never get enough of. Her mouth captured his with determination, informing him without words that slow and lazy wasn't happening today.

He indulged her for a moment, a moan stuck in the back of his throat as she rolled her hips. Intent on dragging out this lazy Sunday make-out session, he lifted slightly off of her, his lips trailing kisses down her jaw.

Tickling near her hip bone made her wiggle her butt in frustration, desperate for a stronger touch.

"So impatient," he mock-chided, running fingers through her hair.

The tickling turned to pin pricks, distracting her from the pleasure his left hand bestowed upon her, as his right hand tangled in her hair, and soft lips left a wet trail down her neck. She blinked in confusion, his hands were nowhere near her hips.

"Ants," she breathed out as his lips found just the right spot. She flipped him on his back, sitting up on her knees, straddling him. "There are ants in my pants."

"I've noticed," he said languidly, running his strong, warm hands over her thighs, bucking his hips upwards.

Her eyes narrowed, and she pushed herself up with her hands on his stomach. Stepping away from him, she unbuttoned her pants and swept a hand down the front, a pinched expression on her face.

Tony frowned—he could do that, in fact, he would love to—stood up and took a closer look at where her hand was fumbling. Angry, red spots marked her soft skin. "Huh, actual ants."

She glared. "Yes, I told you."

He opened and closed his mouth, then grinned. "You should take off your pants, make sure you get rid of them all."

Her glare intensified like the sun rays burning his neck. He ignored it, remembering his earlier intent, and stepped closer. "They were going to come off anyway."

Warm hands slipped into her pants, covering her butt cheeks. She raised an eyebrow.

"I have bigger hands." He captured her lips with his, pulled her to him. "More efficient at swiping away pesky insects," he added with a sly grin.

A sound of frustration slipped from her lips as another ant bit her. "This is not funny, Tony."

He walked—stumbled, really—her backwards into the house, grinning, still holding her body tight to his. "I'll kiss and make it better."

Her eyes drifted to his lips; that mouth could always make everything better. Especially when he didn't use it for talking. She pulled his head down, eager for a physical reminder of what his lips could do to her. Her frustration with bugs melted like snow in the sun with every flick of his tongue and squeeze of his hands.

The back of her legs hit the edge of the bed and she let herself fall down, pulling him with her. His hands made quick work of removing her pants and panties, nimble fingers sliding over warm skin. She closed her eyes, anticipation building inside her.

He leaned up to kiss her once more, slid her shirt up and made his way down, her hands in his hair, guiding him to where she could feel the fire of a thousand suns building again.

His mouth warm, wet, sloppy. His hands firm, possessive, holding her in place.

The slap on her thigh stung, made her breath hitch. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, watched him swipe her thigh, then the cotton bed sheet.

His eyes met hers, apologetic smile on his wet lips. "Uninvited guest." He caressed the spot he had slapped, then continued hungrily, "You know I don't like sharing."

She chuckled breathily and dropped her head back on the mattress. "You better kiss and make that better, too."


End file.
